ignton should spend Sunday with the Mallisons, appearing in time
for early dinner, and remaining until after the eight o'clock supper.
In the afternoon he and Teresa sat in the morning room together, or
walked into the country, and after tea he played a game of chess with
the Major, while from the drawing-room came the sound of hymn tunes
played on a cracked piano. Mrs Mallison had been "brought up to hymn
tunes" after tea on Sunday afternoons, and commandeered her daughters to
produce her old favourites for her delectation. "The Church's one
foundation" led the way to "Onward, Christian soldiers," while "Oh come,
all ye faithful," enjoyed a vogue independent of time or season.
Sometimes Teresa sang the words in a strong soprano voice, an excellent
voice for a choir, but a trifle harsh when heard by itself, but one
afternoon, during one of the protracted pauses which preceded the
Major's moves, Peignton's ear was attracted by a new tune, played with a
softer touch, and presently another voice began to sing, a soft,
somewhat tremulous voice, with a quality of extraordinary sweetness.
The hymn was "Abide with me," and the sound of the well-known words sung
in that soft, tremulous voice brought back a hundred boyish memories.
That was the hymn which he had liked best in the old knickerbocker days
when he trotted to church with his parents; that was the favourite
closing hymn at the school chapel; away on the Indian plains he had
heard his men whistling it over their work. On the impulse of the
moment Peignton pushed back his chair, and crossed the little hall to
the drawing-room. The door was intentionally left ajar, owing to Mrs
Mallison's persistent belief that "Papa liked to hear the music," so
that Dane found himself able to see, without being seen. Teresa was not
present, Mrs Mallison lay back in an easy chair, her eyes closed, her
head swaying to and fro in time with the music; at the piano sat--could
he believe the evidence of his senses?--Mary Mallison herself, that
machine-like automaton in human form, whom he had believed incapable of
feeling! Through the chink of the door Peignton stared for one
incredulous moment at the bloodless lips through which breathed those
low, crooning notes, then drew noiselessly back, with a tingling in his
veins which was curiously like shame. He had caught a glimpse of a
naked soul, and the revelation filled him with distress. No woman could
have that note in her voice, and no